


go hard for what i want

by brophigenia



Series: kavinsky does the gangsey on fire [5]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, M/M, Punching as Foreplay, adam five minutes later: oh no hE'S HOT, adam really doesn't get a clue this whole fic, adam: i hate him, catcalling, for like two weeks, i remember when i was not the queen of filth, long awaited by like five people, minor bloodplay?, the goddess of trash, the long awaited adam/k fic, those days are gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “What the fuck is it with you bitches and trying to break my face?” Kavinsky complained, almostgood naturedly.He rose, bracing his hand on the wall for a second. He left a smear of his own blood behind, though he’d licked up the rest and now all that remained was a strawberry-red break in the peony-pink stretch of his surprisingly lush mouth.(In the shaky timeline between Blue Lily, Lily Blue and The Raven King, Adam Parrish really misunderstands how the modern fuckboy flirts, with sexy results.)





	go hard for what i want

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, this is filth and you are here for the filth. 
> 
> Title from the Make America Psycho Again remix of American Beauty/American Psycho. Comment on this shit or I'm never writing another porno again. That's a lie. Just comment on it because I like reading your comments. They fuel me. They fuel the porn. Sacrifices to the trash goddess.

He’s been itching for a fight. 

It makes him feel sick to his stomach. Makes him feel like his  _ father,  _ like he’s nothing better than that. Nature  _ and _ nurture winning out over sheer revulsion and horror and conviction. 

~~ (It’s not  _ fair.) _ ~~

He’s been itching for a fight, and the last straw is not delivered by Blue, Gansey, or Ronan. It’s delivered by  _ Joseph Kavinsky.  _

“Hey, baby!” Kavinsky  _ crows  _ it, so assured, like it’s his fucking right. Like he is the lord and master over all of Henrietta and there is nothing beyond his reach, nothing impassable to him. Kavinsky is hanging out of his lurid red monstrosity of a sports car, beating his hand carelessly on the side of it to make even  _ more  _ noise than what he’s producing with his stupid fucking  _ mouth.  _ “Ow  _ ow!”  _ He woofs, and Adam only realizes he’s gesturing lewdly at  _ Blue  _ when he can clear his vision of the red rage that had fallen over him like ice cold water poured over his head. 

Blue, standing next to Gansey, rolls her eyes. Her mouth twitches. Gansey is beet-red all the way to the collar of his polo shirt. Adam is so mad he could fucking  _ spit.  _

Gansey should—  _ someone  _ should—  _ fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.  _

He watches Kavinsky go, frozen,  _ frozen,  _ like he’s back at the fucking trailer park with his Dad screaming in his face, too afraid to  _ do something about it.  _

He is not that person anymore. He’s not, he’s  _ not,  _ and he spits out his excuses and slams his way into the Hondayota, drives as recklessly as the old banger will allow and for once, for  _ once,  _ doesn’t think about gas money and his measly bank account. 

He thinks that maybe the drive will calm him down, settle the churning in his gut and the tension headache rising in his cheekbones. He knows it’s more than Kavinsky and his catcalling; he’s self-aware enough to distantly understand that this is a symptom of a larger problem. 

He understands. 

He just doesn’t  _ care.  _ He doesn’t care, and he can’t  _ race  _ Kavinsky but he can certainly beat the living  _ hell  _ out of him. He won’t even feel bad for it. Probably. 

Except Kavinsky is nowhere to be fucking  _ found,  _ and isn’t that  _ great?  _ The piece of shit hung around the edges of Henrietta, better at haunting them all than  _ Noah,  _ even, and the one time, the  _ one time  _ Adam  _ wants  _ to find him, he fucking can’t. Fucking  _ ridiculous.  _ Fucking  _ typical.  _

It’s nightfall by the time he comes across the Mitsubishi, parked haphazardly in front of Kavinsky’s fucking cookie-cutter McMansion. There are no other cars parked in the drive, not Jiang’s Supra or Swan and Prokopenko’s Golfs or Skov’s RX-7. Not even the tricked-out white Range Rover Adam knew belonged to Kavinsky’s drugged-up mother. He’d changed the oil for her once; she’d shoved a pile of bills into his hand and tottered off aimlessly. He’d been half-afraid she’d wreck the thing before she even got it out of the parking lot. 

Adam doesn’t think about what he’s doing when he throws himself from his own car, leaves it parked conspicuously on the curb, sticking out like a sore thumb next to the gleaming, obscene  _ nouveau riche  _ opulence of Kavinsky’s neighborhood. He takes a lead from Ronan and just  _ does it,  _ banging on the front door with almost as much violence as he wants to apply to Kavinsky’s flesh, fists curled tight. Weaponized. 

Kavinsky opens the door bleary-eyed, like he’s been  _ sleeping,  _ wearing  _ sweatpants  _ and a  _ sweatshirt,  _ looking soft and  _ young  _ and— and his feet are pale and skinny and bare against the shining hardwood floor. “Th’ fuck you want, Parrish?” He asks through a yawn, utterly  _ unconcerned,  _ like he’s not even surprised to see Adam. Like Adam isn’t  _ visibly furious.  _

It puts a thorn in his side, a pin in his anger. 

Of course, then his anger swells up even  _ more.  _

He sends his fist straight into Kavinsky’s fucking  _ face,  _ splits his knuckles on Kavinsky’s hatefully straight teeth and follows the momentum until he’s inside. Kavinsky falls on his ass and swears, lays groaning on the ground. And Adam is just. He’s so  _ angry.  _

“Get up,” he snarls, resists the urge to kick Kavinsky while he’s down. “Get  _ up.”  _

Kavinsky slurps the blood from his lips  _ obscenely _ and bares his teeth, eyes glittering sharp even though they’re bloodshot and dark underneath. “Never thought you were a real boy under all that  _ bullshit, _ Parrish.” He said it like he  _ admired  _ Adam for it, for this ultimately pointless display of violence. 

Adam felt cold and hot all over. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay. He wanted to rewind the clock and never have done this to Kavinsky. He wanted to keep going, and turn Kavinsky into something that couldn’t make him furious anymore. 

Kavinsky spat out a laugh. A bark of a thing. He was a wolf of a boy. 

“What the fuck is it with you bitches and trying to break my face?” He complained, almost  _ good naturedly.  _ He rose, bracing his hand on the wall for a second. He left a smear of his own blood behind, though he’d licked up the rest and now all that remained was a strawberry-red break in the peony-pink stretch of his surprisingly lush mouth. 

Adam felt dizzy. Sick. He couldn’t stop looking at the evidence of his burst of violence. He couldn’t stop looking at Kavinsky’s  _ mouth _ . 

Worst of all— Kavinsky  _ noticed.  _

“Mmm,” he hummed, a myriad glowing tones of amusement contained within the sound, cocking his head consideringly. “Is  _ that  _ how it is, Parrish?” He said it like a line from a movie, like he was quoting something, his lips quirking in a wicked kind of grin. Adam’s muscles felt seized up, turned to stone. 

“You’re disgusting,” he said, his voice very faraway. Kavinsky  _ laughed,  _ delighted. It stretched the cut on his upper lip. For a second, a breathless, terrible second, Adam thought it might start to bleed again. He realized he was hard in his jeans. 

“I really want the full set, Parrish, so you don’t even gotta keep sweet talking me,” Kavinsky said, conversational again, prowling closer. 

“What are you—“ Adam began, furrowing his brows and trying to order his thoughts, which had narrowed uncomfortably to his cock and Kavinsky’s  _ mouth  _ and, horrifically, the two of those things  _ combined.  _

Kavinsky dropped to his knees and started working at Adam’s belt, looking up through his lashes coyly as he tongued the split in his lip pointedly. 

Adam became very certain that he was having an out of body experience. He didn’t  _ think  _ Cabeswater would make him see visions of Joseph Kavinsky giving him a blowjob, but honestly, what other explanation was there? 

Kavinsky opened his mouth and went down on Adam’s cock like he’d had a lot of experience— like he’d spent years in the desert meditating on doing just that, an experience that transcended the physical plane. It was a mindfuck on top of the dizzying, terrible pleasure that came from the  _ heatsuctionvibration  _ that came from Kavinsky’s seemingly bottomless throat, his nonexistent gag reflex. 

And his  _ lip.  _ Adam reached a shaky hand down to trace the cut, the wide stretch of the corners of his mouth, the sharp jut of both his cheekbones. Kavinsky’s eyelashes were very long, like a girl’s. They curved daintily. It was a disconcertingly pretty feature. Adam had never associated the word  _ pretty  _ with Kavinsky before, but now the word circled his mind on an endless loop. Kavinsky’s hair was messy and well-cut, his eyes a crystalline blue, his skin flawless and olive-toned, his lips soft and moisturized and so  _ pink.  _

Undeniably  _ pretty,  _ and Adam hated himself for thinking it even as it pleased the primal creature in him, his hindbrain buzzing over the symmetry of Kavinsky’s features, caught like a magpie over the glint of the slim gold hoops pierced through his detached earlobes.

Kavinsky laughed around his cock like he could hear Adam’s thoughts, and then reached up one fine-boned hand to stroke  _ gently  _ over Adam’s sternum, and that was  _ it.  _

He came with his hands pressed over his eyes, not wanting to look a single second more at Kavinsky between his legs. 

Kavinsky spat out his come onto the once-pristine hardwood floor and  _ grinned.  _ “I fucking love winning.” He commented, hoarse from the battering his throat had just underwent. Hoarse from sucking Adam’s  _ cock,  _ and Adam wanted to move across the country. No, across the  _ world.  _

“I.” Adam began, and then stopped, for once in his life at an utter loss of what to say. He opened his mouth again and shut it back without saying a word. What the hell was there to say? 

Kavinsky stood and stretched out his limbs, yawning hard enough that Adam could hear his jaw popping. “You gonna stay and return the favor, Parrish?” He asked, as genial as Gansey ever was. It was bizarre. Possibly even more bizarre than the blowjob. “Or you gonna head on out?” He was  _ chipper.  _ So self-satisfied, so  _ smug.  _ He was visibly hard in his sweatpants but made no move to handle it himself. 

Adam tried again to speak and couldn’t summon the words, and so decided to show himself out. 

He was never going to speak of this again. Ever. 

(But really, who would believe him if he did? What the hell would Ronan say? What the hell would  _ Gansey  _ say? What explanation could he give for having  _ sex  _ with  _ Joseph Kavinsky,  _ Henrietta’s very own spawn of Satan?) 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
